


Sing Again

by Moria



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Belly Kink, F/F, Oral Sex, Playful Sex, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moria/pseuds/Moria
Summary: After the deaths of the Two Trees, Írimë and Elemmírë seek one another.





	Sing Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> For AmyFortuna, written with much love!

“Elemmírë!” 

The darkness, thick and impenetrable, seemed to swallow the name once it left her lips, and in its place it filled her lungs with horrible cold dread. It fueled the panic that had begun the moment all light had ceased in the world around them. Despite not seeing the hand outstretched before her, roaming in the dark, she still ran. 

She hit against many — friends, coworkers, perhaps a couple of lesser friendly acquaintances in her life — in her blind rush to get to the dais where the minstrels had stood and played. Where before music filled the hall along with the laughter, chatter, and the beautiful arrays of lights bestowing down on them, now there was only silence, broken by the occasional cries of grief and panic. 

Why did she have to get to the dais? Írimë could not find the answer to that urge, but the moment the darkness swallowed them, she had to run, lest her love was lost forever, taken by the terrible Void. 

She smashed terribly against someone, and after apologizing repeatedly while fighting the terrible lump in her throat she staggered on, then cried out as she nearly tripped on something — a rug, perhaps made uneven from the multitude of people bustling about in their blind horror. 

She grazed her knee on the hard scratchy pile of the rug, then promptly pulled herself up and resumed her sprint in the blackness. 

“Elemmírë!” 

“Írimë!” 

Her foot collided with something painfully hard and she went toppling over the marble steps. The cry cut off into a gasp as arms swept around her. A familiar scent carried around her and the curls of long hair tickled her nose. Relief swept over her. 

They fumbled in the dark until they could embrace properly and as tightly as they could, hearing their heavy breathing and their hearts pounding from sheer terror. The tears burst forth. Frightened though both were, they still had one another. 

“What is this darkness, Elemmírë?” Írimë asked. Somewhere in the distance came a rumble, a familiar voice of one of the Valar, and light shone some distance away, held high by the arms of a somber Varda. “Why is there darkness? What has happened to Valinor’s Trees?”

*

Grave, terrible news had come from the Ezellohar of the death of the Two Trees and of Daurin, a friend of hers. Then from Formenos brought tidings of King Finwë having been slain. All of this were the acts of one filled with such senseless cruelty.

Elemmírë could not bear it. Whenever she tried to sing or play just one note on her harp or loot or lyre, it was as though the endless night swallowed the feeble note along with her gift for song. This was no ordinary darkness like the heavens Varda had spoken of before that she and Ilmarë had blessed with stars; this darkness was a curse thrown by the enemy who had taken their light. They were meant to languish in misery and hopelessness.

Elemmírë wished to sing, even if it would be a song of grief. It would be a lament called Aldudénië, in honor of their Trees, the Darkening of her homeland, and the cruel slayings of friends. The words were there in her mind, all the words lamenting the loss of the Trees and of the Darkening of Valinor, but they bounced turbulently in her mind, unwilling to straighten and form out of her lips as proper verse. 

The speech given by her favorite student’s father earlier only added to her grief. Fëanáro’s losses were most personal, but unlike her, the words poured out of his mouth, even though they were most turbulent. They rumbled like thunder, loud even from a distance, catching attentions of all the elves, for no music or laughter filled the sky. It had been empty, mourning, until the skies filled with Fëanáro’s cries. 

Írimë sat by the doorway, listening with rapt attention. Somewhere she thought she heard Ñolofinwë. Of course tragedy would solidify the bond between the two princes. Elemmírë needed to step away.

“Will you go as well?” Elemmírë asked with trepidation, watching her love closely for any sign of what she may be thinking. “They say, after all, that wherever Ñolofinwë went, you were not far behind. Daurin himself had told me so long before.” 

Írimë turned, their eyes met, but she could perceive nothing behind the glimmer of her wife’s eyes. 

“Don’t be silly, my love,” Írimë said. She got to her feet and approached Elemmírë. “Follow Fëanáro on such an ill-fated mission, even if my best friend goes with him? It is foolish. Rushing towards a war while burning with such anger — why, that will only lead to more deaths, I should think! If he so has this death wish, then let him be! I choose a more sensible route.” Getting on tiptoe, she cupped Elemmírë’s face in hers and pressed their lips together. 

The kiss, small like Írimë’s mouth, inviting and seductive as her dances could be, Elemmírë melted into them, momentarily forgetting the worries outside their window. When Írimë stepped back, she was smiling warmly. 

“There is still light we can enjoy, my dearest love,” she said before leaning in, kissing around Elemmírë’s neck and down the front of her dress, kissing her left breast. A little tongue swept over her erect nipple.

Elemmírë gasped and grabbed for her shoulders. 

“When the light went out, I went searching for where I knew light still kindled,” Írimë said. “Your golden hair and voice. If all light and hope is to be taken, I would hold on to you forever, my final flicker. I would not want that taken from me.” 

“You still remain a poet even during this time,” Elemmírë said with slight envy. 

“Your body is a constant running stream of inspiration,” Írimë said as she kissed lower. 

“It appears I have become lost in finding my own stream.” 

“Perhaps. Let me help you find it.” 

Standing up, she took Elemmírë’s hand, kissed it, and led her away from the door. 

Their bed still held the comforts of years past: a sanctuary away from the everyday troubles, a shrine to house their lovemaking, a haven for when their bodies grew weary of the day’s events. Warm light from a candle bathed the room in a sweet and soft glow, perfect for the moment. 

Írimë had her lie on her back as she kissed each inch of new exposed skin as her thin fingers worked the buttons of her dress. 

Írimë’s dark bangs tickled Elemmírë’s collar, nipples, and belly as her wife roamed and left behind a trail of kisses, bringing out little giggles from Elemmírë, a sound ringing like tiny little bells in the bedroom. 

With a last tug, Írimë slipped her robe past her feet and discarded them to the side. She had already undressed herself during the process, and for a moment she sat, allowing Elemmírë to take in Írimë’s beauty: the thin frame, so different from Elemmírë’s own, slender waist and legs, though they were strong from dancing. 

“I could weave a song of your enchanting beauty as it appears under a candlelight,” Elemmírë said. 

Írimë smirked. “See? Already you are drinking from a stream of inspiration,” she said in a low tone. “I would love to hear it, but you must wait on writing it, or I might sing along with you forever about your own mountains and valleys and how I could get lost in them.” As she spoke those words, her hands caressed over Elemmírë’s breasts, dipping slightly before rounding up again over her belly, stopping to trace around her navel, then roaming down her sides. “Explore and get lost in them,” Írimë said again as one finger traced a trail from Elemmírë’s chest down to her opening, following with a kiss just ghosting over the skin. Elemmírë shivered. 

“You’re already wet for me,” Írimë observed with a playful smirk. “It is because of how I was kissing your neck, love? Or you like how I kiss your belly?” Dipping forward, she kissed from on hip around and over her soft belly to the other side, drawing out sighs and soft giggles from Elemmírë. A playful finger swept down her slit, teasingly, coating the tip with the wetness. 

She performed the action again, and Elemmírë parted her legs to give Írimë a chance to sit better between them. Kisses came warm and soft around her hips once more, then down to her inner thighs, then over her mound, and then the sudden flicker of a warm, wet tongue over her slit. Wet as she was, she felt the tongue slid right in and brush against her most sensitive spot, and nearly crying out, Elemmírë gripped the bedsheets as the first wave of climax swept over her. 

Írimë smiled. “Such a good first taste. Was it good for you too?” 

“Yes!” Elemmírë gasped. The simple word alone was difficult to mutter, despite this only being the beginning. Írimë knew how to get her, what perfect note to play. 

She slid down so she was resting on her belly, and kissed around Elemmírë’s opening before giving her another lick, soft, teasing before parting the lip to the side and slowly inviting her tongue in. Her tongue was hot and wet against her pearl, and Írimë closed her mouth around her lips as if kissing her. Her tongue swirled around before she pulled back for a moment. 

Using two fingers, she parted Elemmírë’s lips slightly wider, then spread the juice up and around. Elemmírë’s legs quivered. 

“This before me is a pearl I will fight the Dark One from ever taking,” Írimë said with a lust-filled sigh, eyeing her sex before glancing up at Elemmírë, meeting her eyes. 

Elemmírë laughed. “Don’t be so crude!” 

“What did I say? Pearls are nice! Especially yours.” Her wink may have been responsible for how much wetter Elemmírë was getting. She swept back down, flicked her tongue around the spot, before going over the highly sensitive flesh. Elemmírë gasped and gripped onto the bedsheets with one hand as another carded into Írimë’s hair. While Elemmírë was the minstrel between them, Írimë knew how to play Elemmírë well. Her tongue swept over her at just the right tempo, unrelenting, merciless, tender, all the love for her with each stroke, that had Elemmírë seeing sparks of light again and again, till a joy unexplainable bubbled in her chest and music seemed to spring out of her as naturally as the stars and their love. 

“Írimë!” she gasped and tugged at her beloved’s arm, pulling her for a kissing. Tasting her own juices made her mind spin, intoxicated, and she helped Írimë onto her back, spreading Írimë’s legs. Her wife was quite wet herself, and her other fingers were wet, indicative of having pleasured herself as she made love to Elemmírë. 

“Silly thing,” Elemmírë teased and licked the juices from her fingers, getting a delighted gasp from Írimë. She showered her with the same affection before curling over her. They ground their hips together, crying out as their pearls touched. Írimë squeezed her arms, crying out as her body shuddered with her orgasm. 

“Feel me,” Elemmírë gasped. “Feel how much I love you.” Sweeping down and claiming her lips for a deep kiss, they rocked until their bodies calmed from the waves. 

Then giggling, they embraced and hugged, with the occasional gentle teasing slap. 

“Now, isn’t that the best way to combat the darkness?” Írimë said, and the two giggled. “I hope I have given you something to sing about.” 

Elemmírë grinned. “You have given me plenty!”

*

As Elemmírë slept, Írimë washed and slipped into traveling clothes, moving as stealthily as she could.

She turned back, regarding the house and the love she would be leaving. It will not be for long. She could not imagine this taking forever, not with the strength of many elves united against one foe. 

“I will be back soon, my love,” Írimë said, smiling. “This is not betrayal, nor am I choosing Ñolofinwë over you. I will be back soon, perhaps before the bed gets cold again. Do not cry for me and do not have fear. I have faith it shall not be long. I will one day come back, and I cannot wait to hear you sing again.”


End file.
